Special Victims Unit: A Parody
by katydidit
Summary: Just some ridiculous crackfic with plenty of stereotypes and themes that are often overused, even by myself.


Let's see me try my hand at parody, shall we?

Elliot Stabler watched his partner from across their desks, trying very hard to control the raging hard-on in his pants. She was so breathtaking. The very first time he'd seen her, all thoughts of Kathy and his kids had actually gone out the window for a very short amount of time, while he fantasized about making love to her right there on his desk. Her eyes were the only thing he found himself noticing anymore: it seemed like nothing else existed—not her face, not her brain, nothing. Just those eyes. They were definitely chocolate, he'd decided long ago, on one of his creatively poetic binges. A warm, sticky, melty chocolate—so sweet and…just…chocolate.

He growled softly and dug through his desk drawers, searching for the Hershey's bar he'd hidden there. All that thinking about her eyes was making him hungry. Victory. He tore it open, pretending that the wrapper was Olivia's clothes, and proceeded to chow down on that candy bar. Oh, the scandal. Good thing no one else knew what he was thinking right now.

SVU BS

She couldn't take it anymore. Her partner was sitting across from her so obliviously, making love to a bar of chocolate with his mouth, and she just had to sit there and watch, while pretending that she wasn't ignoring her paperwork in order to stare at his ice-blue eyes. She'd read that phrase in this one book a long time ago, and had decided that it was the only phrase powerful enough, unique enough, to describe them.

She somehow managed to get the rest of her work done, only mildly distracted by the arousing slurping noises coming from her newly-divorced partner, and slammed the file closed. She grabbed her coat and stood, more than ready to go home and stare out the window at the rain. She felt those piercing—another word she used all the time—eyes land on her, and found herself blushing.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, taking a bite out of the half of chocolate that remained. She nodded, feeling warmth spread up her neck as she dropped her eyes from the chocolate that was all over his face.

"Will you take that damn candy bar with you?" scowled Odafin Tutola. Olivia jumped at the new voice, looking at him in confusion.

"Fin, you're still here?" she asked. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

The man shrugged at her from his desk. "I don't have a traumatic personal life, and no one seems to want me to make out with you, so the authors pretty much forget about me until they need some token blackness." He looked down at his desk to hide the lone tear that threatened to escape his eyes. No one ever even thought about him—no one seemed to think about how the shooting might have affected him.

Olivia looked around in shock, realizing that there was an older man sitting at a desk. "Who are you?" She demanded of him, drawing her gun. The man held his hands up, looking bewildered.

"I'm Munch, remember?" He asked, showing her his badge. "I work here too, Olivia, don't you remember?" There was a long pause while the brunette searched her memory, shaking her head quietly. "It's a conspiracy, then," the man decided to himself. "They've gotten to you: made you forget all about me. Just like they did with my hundreds of ex-wives." He, too, wiped a rogue tear away, raising one fist to the sky in dramatic protest. "Why must you always take the women I love?" he shouted to the tiles in the ceiling, leaping out of his chair. It was a moment before he realized that there were still people in the room with him, and he sat back down with a sigh.

Olivia holstered her gun and gave a little wave, dismissing it all. "Okay, guys," she said, heading to the door. "I'm gone."

And so she left the station, walking home to her apartment, wondering how it had suddenly become so dark. She shrugged it off, figuring it was just a setup for yet another story wherein she watches the rain and agonizes over her partner, but began walking faster anyway. She didn't want to get wet, after all.

Mere blocks away from her house, she walked past an alley. Two big scary men wearing black clothes reached out and grabbed her, then, despite her training as a police officer and the fact that she's always been able to hold her own in a fight, proceed to rape her and beat her within an inch of her life. Then they flee. She is now lying in the alley, mere blocks from her home, and she knows that without help she will die here.

Luckily, Elliot was unable to gain control of himself, and instead of going home, he decided to go to Olivia's apartment to make sweet sweet love to her. On his way, however, he walked past an alley, and just *knew* that Olivia was dying in there, and that he was her only hope. He ran to her and knelt beside her poor ravaged body, tiny and bruised and shivering in the rain. "Oh, Livvy," he said, a tear escaping as he tugged his jacket off to put over her. "Everything will be okay. I'm here to save you and nurse you back to health."

"No, El," Olivia said weakly, coughing. "I'm dying. Everything will not be okay…"

"Don't say that!" Elliot insisted, picking her up very easily and cradling her in his arms. "Because if you die, then who will writers pair me up with? Come on. You've got to get healing so we can hop in bed together tomorrow."

"Oh, El…" Olivia breathed, kissing him deeply. "You're right. I'm sorry for ever doubting you."

A mere two weeks later, Olivia had healed perfectly, without so much as a scar, physically or mentally, from her ordeal. She was snuggled next to Elliot's hard, naked body, and sighed contentedly. "That was the best sex of my life," she said. "You made me completely forget the fear and shame at having been raped just a few weeks ago, you manly studmuffin. Take me again, please?"


End file.
